


Much Too Small

by nomdegrr



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-12
Packaged: 2018-09-23 18:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9670016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomdegrr/pseuds/nomdegrr
Summary: Maybe it’s pity, but Veronica finds herself thinking she hasgotto get Betty out of this godforsaken hole.





	

It starts with a kiss, as these things often do.

They try out for the Vixens and Veronica kisses Betty because at first, she wants to rattle her.

But when they part, Betty is silent. Her fingers rub at her lips, as if she means to erase the memory of the kiss, but as Veronica’s lipstick smudges all over Betty’s mouth Veronica allows herself the thought that in truth Betty is pressing it into her skin, tasting it all over again. If Veronica feels something of a small, secret thrill at that thought, it’s only because she’s kissed models and actors and royalty, but she’s never kissed an honest-to-god small-town, corn-fed girl. It’s important to experience as much of the world as possible, that’s all.

*

Riverdale is not like New York. Where New York was loud and unapologetic about its ugliness, Riverdale is too-quiet and afraid to show its scars.

Betty is Riverdale through and through. Every day she takes her medication (she thinks she’s furtive when she does it behind her locker door, but Veronica hears the rattle of the pills in the bottle, sees the slight tilt of her head when she swallows), does her homework and arrives at the gym exactly ten minutes before practice. Sometimes, she forgets parts of their routines. When it happens, she gives her head a short, sharp jerk. If Veronica catches it, Betty only smiles.

But Veronica sees it, as the months come and go: there’s more to Betty than her pastel pink cardigans and her quiet struggle to be the only kind of girl Riverdale will allow her to be. At night, when Veronica can’t sleep, she imagines what lies behind those wide, sad eyes.

*

It’s a month after prom and Betty still drops her gaze to the floor whenever she sees Archie.

 _Stupid boy_ , Veronica thinks. Archie Andrews wouldn't know good fortune if it clocked him right between the eyes.

She’s kind of glad for it, though. In some way it’s helped her and Betty ease into familiarity. They practise with the Vixens every week and after, they have milkshakes at Pop’s. Veronica tells Betty about New York, about galas and ice-skating at Rockefeller Centre. Betty listens. Sometimes, she says, hope turning her voice soft, she wishes she could see what’s outside Riverdale.

“We should go to New York someday.”

A smile—a real one, too. “Yeah? That would be amazing.”

“Absolutely. We’ll do all the touristy stuff, go shopping. Oh, and we’ll visit all the museums too. It’ll be an adventure.”

“I’ve always wondered what it’s like to live in a city like New York. I think people must feel free to be, you know, whoever they want to be.”

“Maybe.” Veronica glances up, meets Betty’s gaze. “It depends who you’re with.”

Betty’s smile grows. “Well then, if I’m going with you it’ll be fantastic.”

Maybe it’s pity, but Veronica finds herself thinking she has _got_ to get Betty out of this godforsaken hole.

*

It’s no more than a fantasy, of course. Hermione is still working at Pop’s and Veronica knows their money isn’t going to last. So she coaxes Betty into a day trip. Archie has been increasingly morose lately, spending all his time writing trite songs about love that cannot be, and even Betty tires of him.

Veronica has never driven a day in her life, so Betty offers to drive. She pulls up outside Veronica’s house in Jughead’s old Buick.

“Are you sure this thing isn’t going to break down?” Veronica asks, eyeing the patchy rust on the doors and the torn seats.

“No—but hey, it’ll be an adventure.”

Veronica is sceptical, but Betty opens the door for her with that little quirk of her eyebrow and Veronica has no idea how Archie could ever have said no to Betty Cooper.

*

The drive out of Riverdale is slow and easy. The AC is broken, so they roll the Buick’s windows down, grateful for the breeze that allays the heat. Veronica keeps her sunglasses on, partly because the sun is right in her eyes and partly so she can steal glances at Betty. She’s wearing denim shorts and a plain tank top and the hair that’s escaped her ponytail billows around her face. She looks every bit the innocent country girl; old Veronica would’ve made an acid remark about it, but now she thinks she likes the deception, all that prettiness on the surface doing barely enough to conceal the anger and desperation.

She turns to watch the fields and trees go by. Wonders if Riverdale is forever. If all that’s in her future is this suffocating enclosure where everyone knows her business and they turn on each other because there’s nowhere else to go.

“How far do you think we should keep going?” Betty asks.

“Until we can’t go anymore.”

*

Eventually, though, they stop. It’s late afternoon and hunger gets the best of them. Betty parks the car under a tree and takes the picnic she’s packed out onto the grassy hill. They lay down a blanket and sit, stretching their legs. From their vantage point, they can see all of another rickety town just like Riverdale below.

“I didn’t have much at home, so I just packed sandwiches, some granola and some fruit.”

“So wholesome. Good thing I brought wine.”

Betty flushes, just a little. “Is that what you think of me?”

“No,” Veronica pauses, turns the question over in her mind, “it’s not _all_ I think of you.”

“What else do you think of me?”

“I think you’re smart and hot and entirely too good for Archie Andrews.”

Betty laughs in that self-deprecating way she does. “No, I’m not. I—I’m a mess—”

Veronica puts her sandwich down on her plate, watches Betty for a heartbeat. “Yes, I suppose you are,” she murmurs.

And there—Betty’s jaw tightens and she looks away. “What do you mean?”

Carefully, Veronica says, “There’s more to you, Betty. You don’t show all of who you are to everyone, but I know there’s something underneath all … this.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to say.” She grabs the bottle of wine and raises it to her lips.

As Betty drinks, Veronica studies the angle of her jaw, traces the long line of her neck ( _I_ _’m trying to say you_ _’re a bit of a mess but you_ _’re a_ good person _, and that_ _’s better than I_ _’ll ever be_ ) down to the curve of her shoulder, dotted with the first freckles of the summer ( _but_ _I_ _’m also trying to say you don_ _’t need to be good, not for Archie. Not for your parents. Not for me_ ).

“I don’t know either. Forget it. It was the hunger talking.”

*

They say nothing until the wine is gone. Betty’s on her back, eyes closed against the still-bright sun. Veronica sidles closer. Her head is heavy; what she wouldn’t give for a pillow to lie on. Instead, she lets her head droop, watches the steady rise and fall of Betty’s chest.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica says.

Betty doesn’t open her eyes. “For what?”

“For everything, I guess. For saying what I said. I didn’t mean it in a bad way.”

Betty blinks. Her eyes are so green in the sun; Veronica suddenly feels like she can’t quite remember how to breathe. “Okay.”

Silence settles on them again. The only thing Veronica can hear is the rustle of leaves in the breeze. She takes a breath, then, long and deep.

“You’re just—you deserve better,” Veronica says. “It’s lame, I know, but you deserve better than—” she gestures at the crumbling little town below, “—this.”

Betty pushes herself up onto her elbows. “We both deserve better than this, Ronnie,” she says, and Veronica stares too long into her eyes, feels herself being pulled inexorably forwards until she tastes the cheap wine on Betty’s lips. She presses her hand to Betty’s shoulder, pushes her down onto the blanket, throws one leg over Betty’s hip until she’s straddling her—and then she’s kissing the soft-sweet of her mouth, kissing her the way no first kiss should ever be.

But Betty kisses back. She kisses with fire and frenzy, grasping hard at Veronica’s shirt, hips pushing up even as she pulls Veronica down.

Veronica doesn’t know how much time passes before they break apart, Betty with colour high in her cheeks, lower lip so swollen Veronica thinks of biting it again. Then Betty gets up, before reaching down to pull Veronica to her feet. She collects the remnants of their food and drink and tosses it all into the basket. She walks back to the car. Veronica follows, stops short when Betty spins around.

“You should take me to New York,” Betty says, and Veronica knows before they even make it to the car that she is going to show Betty the whole wide world. 


End file.
